


Probably Endearing

by thalialunacy



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: The one with the cat.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Probably Endearing

Eliot has kept the same kind of place as long as Hardison has known him, regardless of which city they’re in. This one is no different: It's cinderblock small, and the TV is from approximately 1985. But it suits him, and his elderly neighbor Mrs Sanderson keeps an eye on it when he's gone and always has a Tupperware of brownies made for him within minutes of when he arrives home.

Which would be suspicious, come to think of it, but Hardison had run every background check he could find on her and nothing had come up. So either she's a normal human being, or she's part of an agency so secret it's in another dimension. Delores Sanderson, agent for MI27.

Now, Hardison does not venture here often. Eliot's not unwelcoming, and there's a bed in one corner and a couch (well, loveseat, technically, because a couch wouldn't leave space for the ceiling-mounted punching bag and Eliot would die before he gave that thing up) in the other, and Hardison can bring his own screens. But he can also respect Eliot's need for alone time. Combat PTSD is no joke, and sometimes a retreat is the healthiest option for everyone involved.

But he's here today. Eliot's in… one of those countries whose language is trying to keep the last four letters of the alphabet alive, but hell if Alec can remember which one. He’s trying, though, just for the challenge.

“Czechia?” he says to no one as he jiggles the key in the lock just so and the door opens with a rather surprising creak. Not surprising that the building would creak, but surprising that Eliot would put up with it. Built in alarm system, maybe. “Latvia, I think. Moldova?”

He’s reaching for the lightswitch when he sees the pair of glowing eyes.

“Oh, hell no.”

He flips the switch with alacrity, and hears a hiss as a blur of black cat jumps down from where she had been perched on the back of the loveseat, disappearing over the other side.

Hardison pulls out his phone and presses a few buttons, not taking his eyes off the couch.

“Do you know what time it is?” Eliot’s voice is all coal, no diamond. Hardison does not mind one bit.

“Do you realize you answered anyways?” he retorts, taking a couple cautious steps towards the couch.

“Shut up.”

“Look, there's a cat in your apartment. Should I call Animal Control?”

“Only if you want me to kill you as soon as I'm in your time zone. “

Hardison stops. “Wait, there's a cat in your apartment on purpose?”

“Leave her alone.”

“Oh, I see. That's how it is.”

“Hardison...”

He can picture Eliot's face, and it makes him want to snicker. “What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have a name.”

“Cornelia? Svetlana?”

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t have a name, now get outta my apartment.”

“Alright, alright, you wanna play it like that, fine. Let me just get what I came for and I’ll be out.”

Eliot’s end is quiet for a second. “Top left dresser drawer,” he finally says, and Hardison doesn’t stop the grin that comes up in reply.

“You did my laundry.”

“Shut up.”

“Awww.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“But babe--”

There’s a beep and Eliot's gone but Hardison doesn’t really notice because he’s made it to the couch and is having a staring contest with the cat. She’s unremarkable, a generic black cat with wicked, probably conniving eyes.

He blinks a couple times, remembering he read somewhere that if you blink they won’t think you’re challenging their dominance and if Eliot’s cat is anything like Eliot, well, then that is a useful skill to know.

She blinks back at him, once, then jumps down and stalks to the kitchen area of the apartment, where Hardison notices the shiny food and water dispensers - pretty high-end automated stuff, which makes sense considering Eliot’s travel habits.

Then he sees something, and leans in closer. “You’re messing with me.” He rubs his eyes, then crouches down and looks again, but it’s still there. There, along the edge of the plastic mat underneath the contraptions, is the word ‘Lucille’ in big block letters.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He gives up and sits down, right there on Eliot’s spotless kitchenette floor, with a cat named - apparently - Lucille.

A cat who considers this an invitation, because she’s suddenly rubbing her cheek on his jean-covered knee, and when he puts a tentative finger on the top of her head she starts purring. “Oh good, now you’re gonna be all adorable so I fall into your clutches just like I’ve apparently fallen into your daddy’s.”

She remains unperturbed, letting him pet her a few more times before shaking him off and disappearing to…somewhere.

Hardison shakes his head as he stands and dusts himself off. “I can’t even decide if I’m charmed or offended. Black cat named Lucille, shoot.”

He hears a meow, and sees she’s back, holding in her mouth a mouse. “Fake,” Hardison says with relief. “Thank sweet baby Jesus.” Then he leans down and strokes a finger down her tiny head again. “And thank you, Lucille, for your generous offering.”

He straightens up, totally won over and not even mad about it. “Alright, definitely charmed.”

He pulls out his phone again. _She likes me better,_ he types quickly _. She already brought me a gift._

 _I’ll show you a gift,_ comes the swift reply _._

Hardison wonders momentarily how Eliot has this much lax time on a job in eastern Europe, but decides he doesn’t want to know. _Is it better than a fake dead mouse?_

There’s a longer wait, this time, and Hardison’s expecting something appropriately grumpy. When the reply finally comes, he just stares at it for a moment.

_Go check in the top left dresser drawer, then get back to me._

He looks up to where Lucille is curled up on Eliot’s pillow watching him lazily. “What do you think, Lucille? Is he being hinky or kinky?”

She yawns, casually showing off many tiny sharp teeth.

“Thank you for that elucidating contribution to this discourse.” He shrugs, then heads over to the dresser, which is exactly as utilitarian and worn as expected. Hardison’s never gotten a good look at it before, because he’s never had a reason to. Until now, apparently.

“Top left, alright.” He pulls the drawer open and pushes aside his precisely folded shirts in order to find a tiny plastic envelope with a tiny -- and very powerful, and very cutting edge -- electronic chip inside.

Hardison whoops out loud, right there, so loud Lucille jumps off the bed with a hiss. “Sorry, Miss Thing, but if you were me you would be jumping up and down on your damn bed right now.” Then he whoops again.

Eliot must have picked it up during their last job in Japan, that sneaky sneakerson. Hardison’s phone is out and dialing before he gets his breath back, so when it goes to voicemail he probably sounds like a cheap date but he doesn’t even care.

“Rude,” he says into the line. “Now get back here, ya knucklehead. ‘Cause I--” He clears his throat. “Your cat misses you. And I think she’s real close to liking me better than you.”

He’s headed out of the apartment a few minutes later when his phone pings three times in quick succession.

_Not a chance_

_I’ll be back tomorrow_

_So calm down_

Hardison shakes his head, grinning like an idiot, and closes the door behind him before answering.

_Ilu2_

And he snickers as the completely predictable reply comes back.

_Damn it_

**fin**


End file.
